


What once was seen (cannot be unlook'd)

by maliwanhellfire



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Dorian's family finds out, F/M, Fenris still doesn't like 'Vints, I wish I hadn't used present tense, M/M, Modern AU, Non-Consensual Photographs, Sunday Prompt, blackmailing, which is fair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliwanhellfire/pseuds/maliwanhellfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian's upset when a candid photo of him and Bull winds up in a Tevinter newspaper. Then he finds out someone took more. </p><p>He's long since left Tevinter, but the Imperium isn't through with him, and he's not sure he still remembers how to survive it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What once was seen (cannot be unlook'd)

**Author's Note:**

> This story has some upsetting themes, mainly related to stalking and the loss of safety that surrounds that. There's also some interactions between Fenris and Dorian, which might not be to everyone's taste, though I am avoiding getting into Dorian's short-sighted political opinions. There's no apologism here, but Fenris' life is informed by his experiences, so slavery will come up. I understand if you wish to avoid that.

It’s a nice photo. Dorian is thankful for that, at least. They could’ve been caught in a compromising position, or during the rather public fight they’d had the week before. It’d been over the grocery list, of all things, but you couldn’t tell that through an image. Instead they’re smiling, and Bull has his hand around Dorian’s waist. They look good, and they look good together. Bull is even wearing tolerable-looking pants. 

So, yes, it’s as acceptable a transgression as it could have been, but Dorian still feels violated. 

“I’m sorry,” Mae says, watching the newspaper crumple in Dorian’s hands. 

He’s not sure he’d be able to bear the sorrowful look on her face were she anyone else. Dorian’s not fond of being pitied; it makes him feel small. Mae, though, she understands. They’re very different people, but they know the same rejections. 

Dorian rests his head in his hands and sighs. The ability to cry in front of other people has long since been conditioned out of him, and it’s a mixed blessing. He has no desire to make a scene, but he needs something to cleanse away how dirty he feels. 

“I have to... do you think Bull knows?” Dorian asks. 

Mae’s brow furrows and her lips part slightly, paused on the edge of telling him something she’s sure he won’t like. She huffs out a breath and takes her phone from her purse. She swipes twice and pulls up one of Bull’s numerous social media accounts. He already has the photo up, along with a string of disconnected sentences that say ‘me and Bae’, ‘I’m famous in Tevinter’, and, most confusingly ‘Team Friendly Donkey’. 

He’s also changed his icon to a closeup of... Oh. 

 _That’s sort of clever_ , Dorian thinks, but he’s hardly in the mood for it. 

“I didn’t notice anyone following us,” Dorian says. 

“They might not have been, it could’ve been chance,” Mae replies. “There could be any number of reasons why a photographer was in Skyhold... We can look into it, if you’re worried. I know some good people.”

“If you are referring to your cousin in law and his band of terrifying miscreants, I may have to pass,” Dorian says. 

“They’re not the only ones I know,” Mae says. “Though I will admit, they were my first choice.”

 

\---

 

“You don’t have to wait by the door, you know,” Dorian says, as he gets out of Mae’s car.

“I just want to see you inside,” She replies.

Dorian shakes his head, smiling, and waves goodbye to her. He walks up the stairs to his apartment building, pausing for a moment to check his mailbox. There are two letters and a small, padded envelope.

The envelope has his name on it, but no postage.

He feels as if someone’s just walked over his grave. He can’t help the tremor in his hands, and it only gets worse when the paper doesn’t tear immediately. It might be nothing. He wants it to be nothing.

There are photos. Glossy and on good stock. Dorian sees himself, standing at his bathroom mirror, back to the camera. He’s shirtless.

The next one is the same angle, but Bull’s coming into frame.

Dorian remembers it, Bull putting his hands on Dorian’s waist, kissing his neck, _I love looking at you_.

_Baby, don’t you want to see it too?_

Bull’s weight along his back, he’d felt so…

“Dorian? Dorian what is it?”

He’d felt so safe, and good, and the entire time someone had been filming it. And that’s not the worst part of it, not even close.

“Dorian!” Mae says, her voice cracking with fear, thready and high.

There aren’t any windows in that room.

 

\---

 

 

 

 

“No,” Fenris says.

“Oh come on, it’ll be good money… And they need someone with contacts in Tevinter,” Varric says.

“No.” Fenris says.

“How good is good?” Isabela asks.

Varric names a figure. To Fenris’ extreme annoyance it is quite high. Certainly better than any other job they’ve had that year. Fenris glances at Isabela only to find that she is already staring at him, grinning with her mouth wide open. She nods slowly at him.

“No…” Fenris says, but it’s plaintive, and he knows he’s lost.

“Yes,” She replies. “I’m calling Hawke, this is going to be great.”

She swans off into their bedroom, heading for the phone she keeps by their bed. Fenris turns to Varric and glares at him, only to get a smile and a shrug in response.

“I’m sure it’ll be a cakewalk,” Varric says.

“You know I hate ‘Vints,” Fenris replies.

“You are a ‘Vint.”

“I am not.”

Varric opens his mouth to reply but seems to think better of it.

“Alright, but I promise Sparkler won’t give you too much trouble. He’s a nice guy.”

“He’s a magister.”

“Altus. And his parents cut him off because of shit like this, so he’s never even going to _be_ a magister.”

Fenris feels mollified for a moment. Then he remembers that Varric is a writer and writers are liars, so there’s something Varric’s not telling him.

“How do you know him?” Fenris asks, feeling suspicious.

“He’s friends with my cousin’s wife.”

“Which cousin?”

Varric bites the inside of his lip, and Fenris can see it.

“It’s Thorold, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“The Thorold that’s married to a magister?”

“Yeah.”

“I hate you, Varric.”

Varric sighs and shrugs his shoulders, “I know you do,” He says.

 

\---

 

It’s a cute apartment building. It’s only four stories, with garden beds out the front and a high-ceilinged lobby. Everything is painted white with tasteful blue accents, and the potted ferns are real. Fenris can see three cameras at the entrance alone.

“I wonder how much a place like this sets you back…” Isabela wonders.

“I thought you liked our apartment,” Fenris says, hitting the buzzer.

“I do, but I could like something else more…”

The intercom cuts her off. The sound is surprisingly clear, so Fenris wonders if Varric’s intel is wrong when the accent he hears is obviously soporati.

“Who is it?”

“I believe you’re expecting us,” Isabela says. “We’re with Hawke Investigations. I believe Varric recommended us.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then the door clicks open. Isabela rolls her eyes before strolling through. She hits the button for the lift, tapping her foot as she waits for it to arrive.

“Bit terse, wasn’t he?” She asks.

“What were you expecting?”

“I figured they’d be happy to hear from us.”

“Day he’s had? We’ll be lucky if we get offered a chair to sit down in.”

The lift is mirrored and shiny and new looking. Isabela nods at it approvingly, then checks her hair in the mirror. Fenris avoids his own eyes. He’s not in the mood to glare himself down.

There’s someone in the hall already when the lift opens. They raise a hand in greeting, and then wave them down. Their new acquaintance is clean-shaven, with red hair that’s shorn at the sides in Tevinter style. He holds his hand out when they’re closer, shaking Isabela’s first and then Fenris’.

“Dorian?” Isabela says.

He shakes his head, “Cremisius. I’m just the moral support. Dorian’s inside. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Fenris recognizes his voice from the intercom. He feels a little more charitably towards him having seen his face. Cremisius looks worried, his posture stiff and defensive even as he tries to be welcoming. Fenris has no idea why a soporatus and an altus are hanging out, but he suspects it’s something he’ll need to know more about. He can’t imagine Dorian’s family would be too pleased about the sort of company he keeps, although it seems that Cremisius wasn’t the one in the compromising photos.

The apartment’s open plan, and Fenris sees Dorian immediately, sitting at the dining table with his head in his hands. He looks up when they get close, and it’s obvious he’s been crying. Fenris can see the streaks where his eyeliner’s been incompletely wiped away. The beauty mark beneath his eye is utterly Tevinter, but it seems to be natural. Cremisius presses him back into his seat when he tries to stand.

“It’s alright,” Cremisius says. “Mind if we do a quick run through, then you can tell us about your services?”

Isabela sits. Fenris doesn’t. He sees a flicker of dread and recognition in Dorian’s eyes, when Dorian looks up at him. He gets a little kick out of it.

“I hear you’re having a rough day?” Isabela says, and Dorian jolts slightly, before looking at her.

“I, yes.” Dorian says. “Someone took a photo of my partner and I on an outing together, and sold it to a Tevinter newspaper. That was bad enough… But then I got home and…”

Dorian puts his fingers down on a small, fat envelope and pushes it towards Isabela.

“There were more of them. I don’t want you to look at them, but they were taken inside the apartment, and I don’t know if they left any prints… Although maker knows I left enough of mine, I wasn’t thinking…”

Fenris sees what must be the bedroom door open, and through it walks the largest Kossith that Fenris has ever seen. He feels a heavy spike of annoyance. The man is well-muscled, with a patch over one and eye, and Fenris knows they’re in the same business. He’s sure he’s seen him before. He doesn’t like being brought on to a taken job.

The Kossith nods at him, then turns his eyes on Dorian. He holds up a handful of small, wireless cameras.

“That’s all of them,” He says. “I’ll get Rocky to do another sweep later, just to be sure.”

Cremisius shakes his head, “No, let me. May as well make myself useful.”

Cremisius stands, and slaps a hand down on the Kossith’s bicep before walking past. The Kossith takes his seat, putting the cameras down on the table, next to the photos. He breathes out through his nose, glaring at all of it. Dorian looks at him, brows drawn in and pensive, before settling his shoulders back and facing them again.

“Bull, this is… I’m dreadfully sorry, I forgot to ask your names.”

“Isabela and Fenris, pleased to meet you.”

 _Bull_ holds out his hand to take Isabela’s, and shakes it once.

“I think I’ve met your boss,” Fenris hardly thinks of Hawke as his boss, but he doesn’t bother to correct him. “I’m grateful you could help us out, this isn’t the sort of thing my outfit generally handles.”

Which, _us_?

“I’m so sorry about this, Bull,” Dorian says quietly.

“It’s alright, Kadan,” Bull replies.

Bull puts his arm around Dorian’s shoulder and kisses him on the forehead. Dorian closes his eyes and sighs into it, and Fenris feels like he’s been hit by a piece of two by four. Vashoth or not, Dorian’s family must be _furious_. And Fenris knows a thing or two about the actions of angry, noble ‘Vints. That’s without photos of the two of them having sex. If those get out, his house will probably be honour-bound to kill him.

Bull’s full of shit, nothing about it’s alright. Dorian’s a dead man.

From the bleak look on his face, Dorian knows it.

 


End file.
